


The (after)life of the party

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: !!! forgot to tag that oops, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bang Chan is Whipped, Bonding, Boys Kissing, Brief/non-graphic description of drowning, Character Development, Cooking Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Character Death, Eventual Romance, Eventual cuddling/snuggling, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Felix changes Chan’s (after)life, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Ghost fluff, Ghost/Human Relationships, Happy Channie day !!! Thank u for being my light in the dark, Happy Ending, I rec listening to ex while reading for maximum feels, It’s a long boi, Light-Hearted, Living Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Morbid Humor, Oh btw chan can float, POV Alternating, Personally i think chanlix soulmates, Pls dont let the length intimidate u as well!, Rated M bc chan is a ghost/there is talk of death throughout, Sappy moments, Set in Sydney, Skztober fic 1 is here!!, Slow Build, So much morbid humor, Soft Lee Felix (Stray Kids), Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, also my bday fic in honor of Channie day :’), and vice versa, but i just want to explicitly say: this is overall a very light hearted and happy fic, chan is the cutest ghost ever, cooking together, felix care chan so much, ghost!chan, human!felix, i worked so hard on this hah, it should hopefully read pretty fast :’), loving gestures, maybe a little? Idk, my longest one shot to date...the things i do for chan, perhaps it’s my chanlix magnum opus, pls consider checking it out!! It’s cute hehe, pls dont be intimidated bc chan is a ghost!, pls dont blame me for this...blame the ex mv, some comedy elements, this is sectioned into vignettes rather than a linear timeline plot, this might be my most domestic fic...and that is Saying smth, this whole fic is So Soft, this whole fic is happy but the end is Extra happy, unrealistic ghost logic, you can skip through the parts where death is mentioned and it wont effect the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26800078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: Pale fingertips found their target, after what felt like an eternity.Felix gasped, tears springing up at his lashes as a numbing jolt of concentrated chill cupped his cheek.“You're so warm.” Chan whispered, and he sounds breathless. Which makes sense, considering he’s dead. And makes even more sense, when you take into account that he might be in love.Felix gulped, focusing all his cognition on the delightfully frozen feeling of Chan’s palm caressing his jaw. He can feel them, each finger molding around the sharp dip of his jaw, and cradling the apple of his cheek. So chilly. So comforting.It's possible.They’repossible.“You're so cold.”Or: Felix Lee moves into a house that happens to be haunted by the cutest ghost in all of Australia. As strange as it sounds, they fall in love. And let's just say….things are about to get spooky.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 82
Kudos: 444





	The (after)life of the party

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by chan in the EX mv <3
> 
> i wanted to post smth special in honor of chan's bday this year, and what's more special than my longest one shot to date?! honestly, posting a one shot of This Length fills me w immeasurable dread, but i wanna go out of my comfort zone for channie! Rather than a linear storyline, this is sectioned into vignettes (basically “chapters”, but just in a single one shot) so hopefully it should read relatively fast! 
> 
> i worked really hard on this, so i truly hope u enjoy ❤️ And i just wanna briefly say: happy birthday to my best friend, my light, my HAVEN. If it wasn't for Chan I wouldn't have made it this far, wouldn't be motivated to work this hard, wouldn't Be Here right now, period. I love you, Chan, more than anything in this world. Happy birthday, my guardian angel 💗

“23 year old Christopher Bang has drowned, off the coast of Sydney.”

__

“ _Drowned?!”_ Chan squawked, indignantly. He floated a bit closer to the tv, shaking a fist at the disconcertingly pretty news anchor on screen. There's a horribly small, grainy photo of him in the right corner of the news broadcast, and they didn't even use a _good pic._ The least the reporters could have done is scrounge through his instagram for a decent enough picture! Chosen one that had his beloved eyebrow slit on display, _something._

__

But no, no. 9News Australia picks Chan’s fucking _high school graduation_ picture as the one to slap on his afternoon telecast obituary. And that's not even the _half_ of it. 

__

“It was a _shark_ that did me in, I tell you!” Chan howled, scrunching up his features in annoyance. He gestured at the remote on the coffee table, the black device instantly levitating up into his waiting grasp. Chan angrily shut off the tv, right as the anchor began to describe how Chan is survived by his family, will be dearly missed, blah blah blah.

__

Truth be told, rip tides are a fucking bitch. Chan went surfing one fateful day, and got dragged the _fuck_ under. The current was _so_ brutal, his velcro ankle guard came forcefully unstrapped. At the mercy of the sea, Chan plunged under once separated from his board. He _knew_ how to swim, had been a semi-pro his entire teen life, but there's only so much time a pair of human lungs can take under the churn of the sea. Barraged by the unforgiving tide and pummeled by waves, Chan couldn't manage an opportunity to claw his way back to the surface.

__

Going, going….gone.

__

Simple as that. One moment you're _there_ , alive, then you're not. Gone in 60 seconds. Life is short, or some kinda motivational bumper sticker bullshit Chan _probably_ should have paid more attention to. 

__

It's ironic, really. The ocean was Chan’s second home, and _that's_ what did him in. Maybe it was always his fate. His family _did_ often joke that he had salt water in his veins. 

__

Although...it's not much of a joke now, is it. 

__

So there was no shark, admittedly. But it sure _sounds_ cooler, as far as Chan's concerned. 

__

Stupid news. Knowing fucking everything. 

__

Chan doesn't even know how long he's been dead. At least a couple days, right? Maybe less, if the news is _just_ airing a segment about his “untimely demise”. It all feels so far away, his human life. Like a distant, sepia memory. He remembers most of it, though. That day, too. 

__

He remembers looking up towards the surface, desperately, only to be slammed down even deeper by an incoming wave. He remembers how the sun filtered through the sea, sparkling and fuzzy, until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer to watch it. He remembers the sear in the lungs, the encroaching darkness under the waves, and then….complete, utter _nothingness._

__

It was kinda nice, too. Peaceful. 

__

Chan remembers the numbness in the tips of his fingers. 

__

Until he _woke up_ in his tiny suburban bungalow, a 45 minute subway ride outside Sydney proper. And Chan uses _woke up_ extremely loosely. He's fucking dead. Croaked. Pushing up daisies.

__

Chan knew this without a doubt when he cracked open his eyes, only to find himself _floating_ above the still-unmade duvet on his bed. Chan jolted up, as one would from a frighteningly realistic nightmare, only to find himself _still_ hovering a few inches above his mattress. Bobbing in the air, like a humanoid kite.

__

Chan blinked, numbed. He looked down at his hands, and they seemed paler than normal—which was _saying something._ Chan tried to sit himself down, but his body reacted the same as when you try to submerge a boogie board under the face of the ocean. He just popped right back up, weightless. 

__

His brain went blank, and Chan’s body unconsciously floated up a bit higher. 

__

“I'm a... _ghost?”_ Chan had murmured, under his breath. Well, _if_ he had breath, he supposes.

__

A lazy grin pulled onto Chan’s lips, as he wiggled his fingers. Rhythmically scrunched his digits, flexed his toes, cracked his knuckles. All still there, just like before. Save for the very telling stillness in his chest, of course. But that’s just details, right? His body felt cold, but not in an uncomfortable kinda sense. In a _comforting_ kinda sense. Like putting an ice pack on your forehead after you overheat. 

__

Chan’s always hated feeling chilled, but then the feeling was tingly and fresh. Like his body became a slice of spearmint. He blinked, and his eyes felt like glass under the flutter of his lids. 

__

Chan concentrated, and found himself rising even higher in the stagnant air of his bedroom. He liked that sensation of such freeing weightlessness. It reminded him of being underwater. Like when he used to do backflips under the surface of the Olympic swimming pool his dad coached at. His smile widened, 

__

_“Sick.”_

__

That was when he _first_ learned of his spiritual return from the beyond. Now Chan has full control and mastery over his ghostly powers, which include but are not limited to;

__

Floating, duh.

__

Turning himself totally invisible, totally at will _._

__

Making objects levitate like a fucking _wizard._

__

Phasing through walls, ceilings, floors, the whole nine yards.

__

He can even manipulate electronics! That's right, not even _Chan_ could believe it at first, but if he focuses his energy _just right,_ he can turn the tv off and on. Even flip through the channels, if he's feeling particularly strong! 

__

All and all, being a ghost isn't that bad of a gig. Chan gets to live in his beloved house–rent free–just like normal! He expected to be all mopey and existential after finding out about his earthly passing, but Chan is surprisingly at peace with it. It was just his time, he supposes. Nothing he can do about it now, except enjoy the ride. 

__

He's always sucked at sleeping, so now he doesn't have to worry about that anymore. His long-time job at the local record store let him go last month, and money was _more_ than short; but now he doesn't have to worry about a steady source of income.

__

He’s positive there were other ways to quell his apprehensions that _didn’t_ include becoming _Channie the friendly ghost,_ but he digresses. It’s not like he _chose_ to bust a lung under the sea. 

__

Sure, there's more he wanted to do in the world, but maybe he can still...do it? Somehow. Maybe he can possess a wealthy traveler’s suitcase, and see the wonders of the planet through opulent leather stitching and souvenir stickers.

__

Probably not, though. And he's content with that, really. It just sucks that he can't eat or drink anymore (trust him, he's tried). Chan's _really_ gonna miss gorging himself on hot cheetos and caramello koalas all through the night. Ah, it’s those little comforts you find yourself longing for the most. 

__

But there are some _other_ facets of ghostly... _not-living_ that are, admittedly, not so pleasant. Thinking about his family, for one. His lovely parents and siblings, living _hours_ away from Chan, only to learn of his death at twenty-fucking-three. And from _surfing,_ one of Chan’s greatest passions, no less. For his own sanity, since he _does_ need to keep it intact for the rest of time, Chan chooses not to dwell on his family too much. He’s sure they miss him, though. Just like he misses them. Sometimes, if he concentrates on the darkness long enough, he can feel the intensity of their sorrow. Physically, taking the place of the static organs in his body. Same with his friends, and his geriatric spaniel Berry. Maybe when she passes Chan can adopt her from the big dog shelter in the sky, or something.

__

Or maybe his sanity is already _well_ past lost.

__

It's no matter. Chan is a ghost, and there's nothing he can do about that, save for _trying_ to enjoy his new “life” in his one-person cottage for the rest of eternity. Oof. Sounds like a tall order, now that he thinks about it.

__

Chan huffed, rolling his darkened eyes and crossing his arms tighter over his chest. He’s still vaguely offended the news didn’t even _try_ to gussy up his death. Like, _c’mon,_ is it _that_ hard to stick a _man-eating shark_ story line in there? A box jelly sting, a blue-ringed octopus bite, _something!_ It’s Australia, for god’s sake!

__

If only Chan could fly outta here and over to the local news station. Make all their broadcasting equipment go haywire. Drain the battery on all their expensive cameras. Yeah. He should _totally_ get some well-deserved ghostly revenge from beyond the grave. If...he _could._ And he can't. 

__

However, it is at this very moment that Chan heard _something._ A noise from outside his front door. 

__

Chan’s brows furrowed, coupled with a deep pout of his lips. His eyes widened in shock, though, at the wild sight of his front door knob _turning._ He heard keys jangling. Hinges squeaking.

__

Chan yelped, and quickly floated up into the ceiling for safety right as the front door opened. He’s sufficiently out of view from the ground floor, but he purposefully made his body completely transparent. Just for good measure. 

__

_Who the hell is here?!_ Chan thought, severely taken aback. There’s been _no_ activity at his place since he died—no reporters snapping pictures, no flowers placed at his porch steps, not even his family swung by yet to pick up his stuff! 

__

So who the _fuck_ is entering his house?! 

__

And _why?_

__

“So this is the house,” Chirped a young woman, as she comfortably stepped into Chan’s modest foyer. Like she owns the place! She’s wearing a starched, 3-piece business suit, a thick pamphlet rolled up under an arm. 

__

Holy shit. Chan knows that hundred-ass-page booklet. He’s seen one himself, when _he_ signed the lease on his tiny little bungalow. 

__

She’s a goddamn real estate agent! 

__

Chan’s eyes shot open in horror, at the implications.

__

Uh oh….

__

“Nicer than the pictures, right?” The agent asked... _someone._

__

Someone who just walked inside after her, eyes wide and lips already blooming into a wide, joyful grin. 

__

A boy. A man probably not much younger than Chan. His excited gaze is darting about the room, drinking in _every_ nook and cranny of Chan’s living room and adjoining kitchen. “It’s _way_ better!” He exclaimed, and _fuck,_ is his voice _deep._

__

Chan is a ghost, but the sheer timbre of that boy’s voice threatened to give him _chills._ And giving chills is _literally_ what Chan is supposed to do! 

__

The real estate agent took a few more steps into Chan’s home, sidling up to the hallway leading to his bedroom and bathroom, before gesturing over her shoulder at the boy. “Come, I’ll take you on a tour.” 

__

_A tour?!_ Chan shrieked internally, burying both hands in his curls and _pulling_ at his roots. Who the hell does she think she is, giving some _rando_ a tour of _Chan’s_ place? Who let this happen?! 

__

The boy nodded eagerly, and happily took off after the agent. 

__

Chan sucked in a shuddering, apprehensive, _compulsive_ breath, and floated off after the pair; from the refuge of between the ceiling insulation and plaster, of course. 

__

She showed the boy _his_ bedroom, gestured grandly at _his_ walk in closet, and even had the nerve to call Chan’s favorite skateboard a _grungy accent piece._ The fucking _gall!_ Chan bit down on a tight fist, doing everything in his power not to _scream._

__

Actually? Maybe he _should_ let loose a disembodied, ghastly howl. He’s sure _that’d_ scare the duo off his property quick enough. 

__

But...there’s _something_ stopping him. Something about the hopeful glimmer in the boy’s eyes, as he takes in each sight of Chan’s place. Something about the genuinely delighted crook of his lips as he giggles at Chan’s beachy sense of decorating. 

__

He’s...kinda _cute._ And Chan would rather die than admit that the dude trying to _move into his house_ is a major cutie, but, well...that ship kinda sailed already, huh. 

__

“This tub is _huge!”_ The boy cheered, daintily clapping his noticeably tiny hands together. The real estate agent nodded sagely, going into an overdone spiel about how baths are on the decline in inner city apartments, they’re becoming exclusively available in suburban houses, yaddah yaddah. 

__

Yeah, yeah, the boy is _really_ adorable and exactly Chan’s type, but _still!_ This is _Chan’s_ house, and he’ll be damned if he gives it up without a fight. It’s the principal of it all, he tells you! Chan ignored the spark of numbed, smothered heat in his core as he watched the boy from above. 

__

_“ThIs tUb iS hUgE,”_ Chan jeered, silently, contorting his features into an affronted scowl. Hell yeah his tub is huge, Chan used to take relaxing soaks in it every other day! When he was, you know, _alive._

__

The agent took the boy to the laundry room, Chan’s pocket-sized backyard, and even gave him an in-depth tour of his kitchen, before they returned to their starting position at the front door. Chan followed from start to finish, angrily hovering invisible from view. 

__

“So, you’d like to put down an offer on the place? It just went on the market, so there’s no other bids on the property.” Explained the agent, retrieving a pen from her fitted-blazer pocket and clicking it once, twice. 

__

_Just went on the market?_ Chan smacked a hand to his forehead, raking down his perpetually-chilled flesh. Since when? Since _how?!_ Who put his goddamn house up for _sale?_

__

Did some faceless moneygrubber stake a _for sale_ sign in Chan’s yard the goddamn _day_ he bit the dust?

__

Chan _supposes_ it makes sense; a dead man’s house can’t stay unoccupied _forever,_ especially in a desirable neighborhood such as Chan’s _._ This was bound to happen. Even if Chan wishes it wouldn’t. 

__

The boy nodded his head, sending his dyed-blonde locks bouncing in the natural lightning. “Definitely. This place is _perfect.”_

__

The agent smiled, “Wonderful! I’ll just quickly fill out the paperwork—”

__

_No! Not the paperwork!_ Chan thought, desperately. 

__

Chan unconsciously squeaked in dismay, a pitiful whine from the back of his throat. He instantly clammed up once he realized the _audible_ noise escaped. He slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was _much_ too late. 

__

The pair by the front door visibly bristled. The agent furrowed her manicured brows, pursing neon-pink lips as her gaze flew about the room. The boy also looked appropriately startled, cocking his head as he trailed her scrutinizing gaze. 

__

“Did you hear that?” He asked her, after a brief moment of stiff silence. He wrung his dainty little hands together, and Chan fought away the intrusive thoughts pertaining to how much he’d like to hold them.

__

The agent nodded, before shrugging. Her expression mellowed again, now returned to picture perfect professionalism. “Probably just the wind, or something.”

__

The boy bobbed his head in agreement, but he still seems a bit unnerved. “Who used to live here, anyways? Seems they left all their stuff just...in _place.”_

__

_Yeah,_ Chan thought, shaking off the fear of almost being found out. _I did._

__

_God,_ Chan is a fucking _specter,_ and _he’s_ the one spooked by a pair of humans. What is his after-life? 

__

The agent shrugged again, a non-committal raise of her shoulders. She absentmindedly clicked her pen again, before starting to scribble on some dotted lines. She checked a box, “Just some guy, I think?”

__

Chan’s eyes popped open, along with his jaw going unhinged. _Just some_ guy?! _Is that how people respect the dead these days?!_

__

The nerve of these people! Barging into _Chan’s_ house, giving random (cute) dudes _tours,_ filling out _paperwork,_ and now _this?!_

__

It’s too much. It’s like a joke! Is he secretly in Hell, or something? Is this his punishment for always procrastinating his work back on earth in favor of surfing and skating and producing? 

__

No, no. A boy _that_ angelic could _never_ be a byproduct of eternal damnation. 

__

Said boy quirked a brow, but didn’t press the subject any further. He simply took the pen when the agent offered it, and signed his name in triplicate. Checked another three boxes. 

__

Chan pinched his brows, his fingers indenting dull crescents into the flesh of his palm. So this is really happening, huh. His jaw painfully clenched. 

__

You know what? 

__

Chan _hopes_ this guy moves in. That’s right, Chan _wants_ the dude’s stupid offer to be accepted by whoever the fuck put Chan’s house on the market in the first place.

__

Because Chan is a _ghost._

__

And adorable boys or not, this is _his_ home. _His_ place. His _territory._

__

Chan is a ghost.

__

And he can’t _wait_ to make this boy’s life in his new home a _living hell._

_**  
  
  
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⊂(≖o≖⊂ )∘˚˳°

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**_

“Hyunjin, can I tell you something?”

__

A brief pause. Someone must be responding on the other side of the line.

__

Felix sucked in a trembling breath. “I think my house is haunted.”

__

Another moment of silence. Felix sighed into the receiver, running a small hand through mussed blonde locks. 

__

“I _know_ it sounds odd, Jin, but I’m _serious._ Weird shit _always_ happens. There’s cold drafts everywhere, when I haven’t even _had_ the AC inspected to be turned on yet. If I put something somewhere, it’s _always_ moved to a totally different spot the next time I go to get it. The tv randomly turns on and flips to the _cooking channel._ I don’t know what's _happening,_ Hyunjin.” 

__

Chan cracked a devious, wicked smirk. He’s made himself purposefully invisible to the human eye, currently hovering languidly a few feet above the sofa and gazing below. Lounging in midair, chin propped on a fist and legs idly crossed. Felix is sitting on the far right cushion, directly under Chan’s unseen feet. 

__

He strained, and heard someone on the other end. _“Lix, did you lose your mind, or something? There’s no way your place is haunted! You’ve only been there for a week, it’s just your brain playing tricks on you in your new surroundings.”_

__

Chan swallowed down a cackle. Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, _Hyunjin._

__

Felix gulped, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing. He looks tired. Haggard. It’s not a good look on him, Chan decided. Felix mumbled into the receiver, “Yeah, yeah. You’re probably right. Just my dumb brain playing dumb tricks on me. Right.” 

__

Chan at least had the decency to feel _kinda_ guilty. Kinda. Not all the way to full regret, yet. 

__

But he has to admit, he _has_ been going pretty hard on Felix, since the first day his moving truck pulled up. As Felix described to his friend on the phone, Chan has been pulling out _all_ the ghostly stops. Moving items, summoning unexplained cold fronts, even rapping phantom knocks on the thin plaster walls. One time he even sent a new bottle of shampoo _flying_ off the shower rack. Each time Felix takes notice of Chan’s antics, he immediately freezes in place. His throat bobs with a thick gulp, as his dewy doe eyes dart about whatever room the incident occurred. His olive skin pales considerably. Chan even sees goosebumps rise on his flesh, making the fine hair of his arms and neck stand straight on end. 

__

On his first night in the house, Felix slept with the bedside table lamp on. 

__

Chan rolled his eyes at the sight. He made sure to flick off the switch once Felix finally succumbed to slumber, leaving him baffled in the morning. But if you asked Chan, he’d honestly (and begrudgingly) admit he shut the light just so...Felix could sleep easier. 

__

Chan hasn’t been going lightly on poor Felix, but he has to admit, as far as unwanted tenants in his house are concerned, Felix is _pretty_ damn perfect. 

__

For one, Felix, _Felix Lee,_ as Chan recently learned, decided to keep Chan’s house furnished exactly as he found it. Probably to save money on furniture and all, but Chan is counting his lucky stars that he wasn’t forced to helplessly watch his precious belongings be boxed up and sent to the dump. Not like he had any family heirlooms or photos hung up, but the sentiment still stands. 

__

Granted, he _did_ clear out Chan’s closet and drawers, in order to make room for his own clothes. Understandable, understandable. All his clothes were variations on a theme, anyways; black, black, and _more_ black. Chan accepted that. He’s a ghost, so he found himself wearing the same plain white tee and soft linen shorts since his reawakening. He didn’t even own them, when he was alive. 

__

Felix even kept Chan’s trio of surfboards as they were in the bedroom, arranged neatly in a standing rack by the window. Blue, colorblock, woodgrain. There _was_ a fourth black and ivory board, but that one is probably still lost at sea. It was his favorite board, too. Chan's chest always squeezes when he sees the telling, empty space in the board rack.

__

Chan expected Felix to use his boards as a makeshift coat rack, but so far he has treated the three with the utmost dignity. For surfboards, that is. But Chan is still grateful, to see his well-loved possessions in their place, where they belong.

__

Felix even dusts Chan’s surfboards, every other day. 

__

If Chan had a beating heart, he’s sure the sight would’ve made it break. 

__

He respects Chan’s abode, meticulously cleans and tends to the property, and even went as far as to paint over the black scuff on the molding by the shoe rack in the hallway; a leftover from Chan consistently throwing off his sneakers upon returning home. 

__

He hasn’t had any raucous shindigs, hasn’t tracked in any mud from the yard, heck, he didn’t even bother throwing a _housewarming party._ Felix just... _settled._ Simply. Easily. Gracefully. 

__

Suddenly, Chan’s coy grin of triumph faltered. Withered on his lips, until his mouth is pressed into a firm line. 

__

Honestly? Chan feels….guilty, about giving Felix such a hard time in his new house. More than just _kinda_ guilty. Now he's struck paydirt, _now_ he's fully regretting it _all_. It's probably his _first_ house too, given how young he is. Damn. Maybe Chan needs to rethink his whole _‘operation: chase out the cutie living in my home’_ plan. 

__

Felix hasn't been sleeping well, since Chan began to cause trouble. Chan doesn't watch him sleep, or anything—he may be a ghost, but he's not _that_ much of a creep—yet he can sense him tossing and turning the night away. He can feel the jangled electricity of his heightened energy.

__

His eyes are heavy, sagging in his head. His bags are prominent and sickly purple, a horrible contrast to the speckle of fawn brown freckles across his cheeks. He constantly looks over his shoulder, head on a disturbed swivel, waiting for the next unseen shoe to drop. Felix’s eyes were so bright, so hopeful, that first day Chan saw him at the impromptu open house. He was so spritely, so full of _life._ So full of everything Chan missed so dearly about living.

__

Felix looks so different now. It makes Chan’s chest ache. 

__

Chan gazed at Felix, from where he's floating invisibly above his head. Fuck. He looks so _sick._ Chan can see the residual fear in the corners of his eyes, sparkling like a deer under the barrel of a rifle.

__

This is all Chan’s fault. Felix is terrified in his own home, thinks he's going _insane,_ all because Chan couldn't come to terms with someone with a beating heart and working lungs moving into his bungalow. Goddamit, Felix already paid the down payment on the house, it's not like he could leave even if he _wanted_ to. So...why is Chan putting him through so much unwarranted _hell?_ For _what?_

__

Chan is slowly but surely ruining an innocent boy's _life,_ all because he lost his own and can't accept that times change and the world moves on. 

__

Chan is a ghost.

__

And right now he'd _really_ love to disappear. For a while. Maybe forever. 

__

Chan chomped down on his bottom lip, sinking a bit closer to Felix. The human can't see him, obviously, so Chan deemed it safe to hover even flusher to him on the cushion.

__

With the newfound closeness, Chan found himself unconsciously counting the freckles on Felix’s cheeks. _22, 23, 24…_

__

Chan swallowed, compulsory, since he clearly doesn't have to anymore, as he unpacked Felix’s thick fan of lashes and plump, glossy lips and sculpted jaw. He's not just cute, on second thought.

__

He's _gorgeous_. 

__

If Chan had a functioning heart right now, he knows it'd be pounding. He knows it'd be _smitten_.

__

But maybe he doesn't even need a thumping muscle for the latter. He'll have to get back to you on that. 

__

Felix heaved a shuddering breath. His eyes fluttered as they rolled back in his head, before his lids stilled. Chan saw the goosebumps chew up his exposed forearms, as Felix grumbled into the phone, “I feel it now, Hyunjin.”

__

“It's so cold, right next to me. It didn't feel like this a fucking _minute_ ago, man.”

__

Felix shovelled down a thick, audible gulp. “I'm scared.” 

__

Chan instantly flew from the sofa and up into the ceiling, taking the telling cold spot with him. _Goddamnit._ Chan ran a large hand through his black curls, peeling some stray ringlets off the nape of his neck. He hovered against a wall in his tiny attic, soon sinking down to shove his face in his hands. Chan's own palms feel like sheets of ice against his skin.

__

Felix's words rang through Chan's ears;

__

_I'm scared._

__

He sounded it, when he said it. Chan felt frozen muscle shatter behind his ribs. 

__

What is he _doing?_

__

Chan made up his mind, in that very instant. 

__

It needs to stop, _all_ of it.

__

He's going to make this right.

__

For Felix. 

_**  
  
  
  
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⊂(≖o≖⊂ )∘˚˳°

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Felix thought he was losing his mind since moving into his new suburban cottage, but he _never_ expected his brain to just...go so fucking _buckwild_ on him, like this. 

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The mental lapses when he places something _somewhere_ only to find it _anywhere_ else he can deal with. Going to bed with his dim bedside light on, only to wake and find it flicked _off_ he can deal with. His brain is a fucking slushie since moving in, but he can deal with it.

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It’s not like his house is _haunted,_ right? 

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But then Felix’s cranium decided to crank it up a notch. Pull out _another_ stop. Rev the goddamn _madness engine_ that has taken the place of his brain. 

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Because Felix just walked into his living room. And there is a _man_ there.

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Just a man. A dude, idling by the wide windows that look out into the backyard. 

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Felix tripped on his own feet, when he saw him. He choked on his breath, his eyes bugged out of his skull, when he saw him. 

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“Wha–what the hell?! Dude, what are you _doing_ in here?!” Felix bellowed, stumbling a few feet away from the stranger loitering by the couch.

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Who _is_ he? Is he the previous owner? Did he use his old key to come in and retrieve some stuff? Couldn't he have let Felix _know_ before busting in unannounced?! 

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Is Felix getting _robbed_ a week into his lease?! He knows he locked the door and latched the windows as normal last night, so _how_ did he get _in?_

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A small smile pulled onto the man’s lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. And now that Felix has gotten a good look at him, his lips are _pale._ Pallid pink, almost tinged blue around the edges. His skin is just as alabaster, with a grayish tint under his eyes. He looks tired, from the inside out. 

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His eyes are dark, too. Almost black, glassy and deep-set in his head. 

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He's wearing a simple white tee and black shorts, but the deceptively threadbare outfit doesn't hide the broadness of his chest, the visible muscles of his arms and calves. 

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He doesn't have any key ring in hand. No boxes of knickknacks in his arms. He's just…. _standing_ there. 

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Actually?

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Scratch that.

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“Holy fuck–” Felix choked, almost keeling right over at the sight. The boy isn't _standing._

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He's _floating._ Barefeet slack, as he hovers above the polished floorboards. He even bobs a bit in the air, gracefully. 

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His smile widened, at Felix’s visceral reaction. But it wasn't predatory, wasn't malicious. It's almost like he finds Felix endearing. Finds him _cute._

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“Hey,” he said, and his voice is low and creamy. Goosebumps chewed up Felix’s skin. What's going _on?_ What's happening? How is his brain creating a startlingly realistic hallucination of a floating _dude_ in his living room?!

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“I'm Chan. I'm dead.” 

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Felix’s brows shot up to his artificial blonde hairline. He blinked, eyes owlish in his skull. Argue, argue, argue. “No, you're not. I'm dreaming. This is a dream.” 

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It was more to himself, than to _Chan._ The so-called dead boy bouncing fresh sunlight off his ivory skin in Felix's living room. 

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Chan shook his head, good naturedly. His hair is black and curly and bounces about his head like springs. “You're not dreaming. I'm dead. I'm a _ghost.”_

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He drew the tip of his thumb across his throat. 

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Felix shook _his_ head, a physical means to dispel such a ridiculous notion. He stumbled back another step, putting a bit more distance between him and Chan.

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A _ghost?_

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Everything came flooding back to Felix. All the unexplainable experiences he’s had since moving in. Bottles flying off counters. His belongings ending up on the opposite side of the _house,_ from where he left it. Mysterious knocks on the walls. The tv flicking on and off, on and off, and all Felix could do was watch, helplessly. He was so scared every day, waiting for something impossible to happen before his eyes. He thought he was going _crazy._

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Because he wasn't doing those things. 

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But does that mean…? _He_ was–

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“No. _No,_ that's not _possible,”_ Felix whimpered under his breath. His heart is pounding in his chest, hot and hard and pummeling his ribs. _It's not possible, it's not possible._

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Chan floated a few inches closer. Not enough to scare Felix anymore, but enough to show does not mean any harm. That he isn't a _threat._

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He hovers so gracefully. Gravity turned a blind eye, as Chan is kept aloft above the hardwood. 

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He raised both large, pale hands. He comes in peace. “I don't know what else to tell you, Felix. I'm a ghost. I was vibe checked by god. I don't know how else to explain it, but I'm not here to hurt you–” 

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Felix sputtered, “You know my _name?!”_

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How does he know Felix’s name? He supposes it would make sense if he was the previous owner, but _people_ don't just fucking _float._ Previous home owners or landlords don't just casually call themselves _ghosts._

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Chan nodded, his smile easing down just a tad. “I've been here since the day you moved in. Since before. This was _my house,_ Felix. And I'm sorry, for causing all this trouble for you,” 

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Felix’s heart stopped; _I'm sorry, for causing all this trouble for you._

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Chan’s eyes sank to the floorboards. His lips twitched into a frown, “I just...didn't want to accept that someone new was taking over my home. And I'm _truly_ sorry, for everything. I promise I won't make your life difficult anymore, so….can you forgive me?” 

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Felix can't believe his ears. He wasn't crazy. He didn't lose his mind at _twenty_ . His house is haunted by a cute-as-hell ghost, who’s asking for _forgiveness_ for making Felix's first week so... _eventful._

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Felix didn't know ghosts exists. He didn't know Chan is still tied to the house he loved so much in life. 

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He didn't know ghosts could be so beautiful, either. 

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Felix sucked in a steadying, calming breath. Okay. This is okay. He has a feeling he should be screaming, crying, _begging_ for mercy, but he can't help his heart slowing at the sight of Chan.

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And he can't blame Chan for trying to send Felix running; he would probably do the same, if he was forced to silently watch a stranger take over his most special, personal place. It's a bit of a ghostly cliche, isn't it? Felix had no idea spirits _actually_ become attached to their places of comfort, once they pass. 

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He learns something new everyday, doesn't he. 

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And Chan seems absolutely harmless—save for his penchant for sending Felix’s shampoo bottles flying. Felix trusts him, when he says he won't hurt him. 

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He didn't believe in ghosts before. But Felix believes in _Chan_.

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“I forgive you, Chan.” Felix said, genuinely, and his eyes found Chan’s from across the room. He took a step closer to the ghost boy. And then another. His dark eyes brightened, when he noticed Felix begin to smile. 

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“Thank you for showing yourself to me,” Mused Felix. He feels so much better, after seeing the face behind those eerie shenanigans. Not to mention the explicit confirmation that it's all going to _stop._ “I'm happy to know my eyes weren't playing tricks on me, all this time.” 

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A sheepish grin bloomed on Chan’s lips, dotting dimples in his cheeks. If he was alive, Felix is sure his face would be flushed bright red. 

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“Yeah, that was all me,” Chan quipped, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But…” 

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Chan is looking at Felix like he's missing something. Just out of reach, literally and figuratively. “You aren't... _scared?”_

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Felix cocked his head, sending blonde locks falling into his eyes. He quickly brushed his fringe away from his brows, so as not to veil an _inch_ of the ghost boy. “Of what, exactly?” 

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Chan sent his gaze back to the floor with purpose. “ _Me?”_

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And at that, Felix couldn't help but crack a smile. What a silly question.

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“ _Heck_ no,” Felix chirped, sending Chan an inviting little grin. “You actually seem pretty nice. And you don't look like the girl from the ring, so that's a plus.” _A big_ plus _._

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Felix didn't have the heart to outright tell Chan he's about as scary as a bunny rabbit; gotta save him _some_ of his ghostly dignity, right? 

__

Chan's eyes shot up from the hardwood planks below, exponentially brighter than before. He smiled, wide and palpably overjoyed, and Felix swears he can feel some of the icy ease physically radiating from his body. Chan released a loaded sigh of relief, one Felix _now_ knows he didn't even have to heave in the first place. 

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Chan sounds like the happiest ghost on earth, as he says, “Thanks for being so chill about it all. I expected you to lose your shit, or something. Speed dial an exorcist.” 

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Felix scoffed at that, somewhat insulted Chan instinctually pinned him in such a way. Although...he can't necessarily blame him. But to try and get Chan _out?_ Why would Felix _do_ such a thing? 

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Felix rolled his eyes, just a bit. It was all in good nature. “Yeah, you're absolutely _terrifying._ Your dimples will keep me up at night.” 

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It was a tease at first, but maybe that's not such an exaggeration, now that he mentions it. He _definitely_ wouldn't mind daydreaming about those dimples, in all actuality. 

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Chan’s frown became a bit more petulant. A bit more of a pout. He argued, “Hey! My dimples are plenty scary, thank you very much!” 

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He's joking. Felix can tell by the glimmer in his blackened eyes. 

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Felix found himself giggling into a tiny fist, as he posed, “So...are you gonna stay? I guess I wouldn't _mind_ a roommate, now that I think about it.” Chan probably can’t leave even if he wanted to, but Felix wouldn’t mind some...positive confirmation, on the subject. 

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And it's true—one of Felix’s main worries before moving out of his parent’s house in Sydney is that he'd be _lonely._ Horribly lonely, in a house all by himself. 

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Maybe it's a blessing, that he moved into a house haunted by a cheeky dead boy. 

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Plus, having a cute ghost as a roommate doesn't seem half bad. Maybe he can use his otherworldly powers to make Felix's life _easier,_ rather than harder.

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Chan immediately perked up, his shoulders unslumping and his broad back going ramrod. “You mean it? I can _stay?”_

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Chan looks like he can't believe it, with eyes wide and glossy, his lips hanging open in disbelief. 

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Felix purposefully ignored the wild pound of his heart, how hot his chest feels so suddenly. Dimples flash behind his eyes with each blink.

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Felix took a step closer. He is hit with a blast of cold air as he creeps into Chan’s space, but it isn't scary. Not anymore, at least. Felix relished the refreshing chill that _is_ Chan, and felt the flush on his cheeks mellow on contact.

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“Of course, Chan.” Felix looked up into his big, dark eyes. He got lost in them, in their sparkle and shine. He's _beautiful._

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Felix wouldn't want to oust Chan from his home, even if he knew how. He has never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 

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“You can stay.” 

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⊂(≖o≖⊂ )∘˚˳°

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“Hey Chan, can you float me a bottle of juice?”

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“Pineapple or apple?” Chan called back, beginning to phase through the bedroom walls, towards the kitchen. Felix is curled up on the living room sofa, button nose buried in a stat textbook from his university. Chan is a shock of ivory and ebony, as his torso gradually seeps from the smooth plaster. 

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_Floating_ is what Felix has taken to calling Chan’s ability to make household items hover like he himself does, and send them on journeys throughout the floorplan. Chan is so kind. So helpful, now that he and Felix understand each other, and their nuances.

Chan doesn’t eat, but he helps Felix every night with the dishes; floating dish soap onto sponges and scrubbing levitating pots and pans clean, as Felix fumbles with his tiny little human hands to get the job done. It was quite the sight at first, the kitchen air swarming with sudsy plates and cutlery, as Chan worked his ghostly magic. But Felix got used to it _fast._ They both always walk away wet, and soapy, and laughing. 

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Chan doesn’t sleep, but he always assists Felix when he makes the bed; hovering high above the mattress, directing Felix where his fitted sheet looks like it’s about to ride up from beneath the topper. He easily maneuvers pillows through the air and into the open, freshly washed cases, when Felix can’t seem to get them on straight. When Felix forgets to grab a clean towel before showering, Chan levitates one in for him from the laundry room without question. 

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Chan can’t partake, but he happily floats Felix snacks and drinks whenever he's too bone-tired to make the trip to the kitchen. Sometimes when he _doesn't_ even ask, Felix finds bottles of soda and packets of cookies floating towards him. Chan quickly learned how Felix looks when he needs a sugar break. 

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_“It's okay, Felix.”_ Chan always says, when Felix implores him that there’s no need to burden himself with household chores that aren't even _his._

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_“It makes me feel alive again.”_ He responds each time. With complete surety. 

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They watch tv together nightly, with Felix cuddled up on the cushions, Chan floating a few inches above. But still _together._ Still close enough that Felix has to wrap himself in a blanket in spite of the Sydney heat, in order to block out Chan’s persistent chill. Chan always asks Felix to turn to Paranormal Activity when it’s on, because he thinks it’s absolutely _hilarious._ Felix can never say no to him, despite that certain film nigh _ingrained_ into his brain by now. Chan is so kind. Felix couldn't imagine life in his new home without him. 

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He’s been sleeping so much better too, since he and Chan officially met. You’d think it’d be a little disconcerting going to bed knowing full well that your house is very much _haunted,_ but Felix can’t be anything other than comforted by that fact. Knowing Chan is _there,_ liminally floating from room to room, lulls Felix into peaceful slumber each and every night.

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It’s all kinda weird, he admits. But Felix, so it were, is pretty damn weird. 

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So it works.

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_They_ work. 

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“Surprise me,” Felix yelled back, as he turned to the next page in his textbook. 

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A few moments later a levitating carton of organic pineapple juice hooked around the wall separating the kitchen from the living room; now languidly bobbing through the air towards its recipient. 

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“Thanks, Chan!” Felix chirped, momentarily popping off the couch cushion in order to pluck the box of juice from midair. He cracked open the tab, and took a nice, long swig.

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Ah, just what he needed during a grueling study session such as this. Tangy and tropical and _oh-so_ fruity. The perfect sugar spike, to get him through the rest of this chapter. 

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But his foray back to his intermediate stat textbook didn’t last long. 

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Felix soon perked up, a wide smile coming to his lips at the sight of Chan himself floating over to the sofa. There’s a matching, dimple-dotting grin already lighting up his features. 

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“Can I sit?” Chan asked, as he bobbed over to the arm of the couch. Felix knows he uses _sit_ very loosely. He tilted his head of black curls, sending them shifting off his forehead. He looks hopeful, Felix couldn't help but notice. 

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Felix’s smile widened, “Of course! This is _your_ house after all. You don’t need to ask me, Chan.” 

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Felix patted the exposed cushion beside him, even though he knew it was overkill. 

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Chan bit down on his bottom lip, suddenly bashful. Felix knows how much it means to him, when he calls the house _Chan’s._ Because it _is_. Felix’s name may be on the lease, he may be paying the bills, but Chan has been here _long_ before Felix arrived with his moving boxes. And he’ll be here long after, too. But Felix forcefully pushed those thoughts _far_ out of his head. Not now. Not right now.

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“Thanks,” Chan muttered, body effortlessly transposing through the thick sofa arm, until he is hovering over the other cushion. Mere inches from Felix. The human can feel his chill, wafting off his body like an arctic cold front. It’s still refreshing, Felix thinks. Still comforting. Chan added, “I just didn’t wanna bother you, since you’re studying.” 

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Felix waved away such a notion, slipping a stray pen in his current page as a makeshift bookmark and shutting his textbook. Hundreds of crinkly, wrinkled pages fluttered with the action. It was music to Felix’s ears. 

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“I was actually about to take a break, anyways.” Felix lied through his teeth, pulling his legs onto the cushion as he turned to face Chan directly. He is met with pale, greyish skin, like the face of the moon. A strong, masculine jaw. A wide nose, perfectly shaped and perfectly kissable. And on second thought, a break sounds _lovely,_ right about now. 

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Chan gazed at him through dark lashes, somewhat unreadably, until a smile tugged back onto his pale lips. He mimicked Felix’s own position, and folded his hovering legs together. Getting comfy in midair. He said, “Okay, Felix. If you say so.”

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Chan almost seems unconvinced, with Felix’s excuse for an impromptu study break. But he didn't argue. He didn’t press the subject. He just looked at Felix, eyes shining in the light, and propped his chin on a fist. 

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Felix took a small gulp from his pineapple juice. His tongue felt pleasantly tingly after, leaving his mouth fuzzy and sugary. He considered making a stupid joke about how it’s ironic for Chan to be here, in the _living room,_ but ultimately decided against it. He has something more important on his mind. 

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“Can I ask you something, Chan?” Felix began, after he recapped his box of fruit juice.

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Chan hummed, his body rising a few inches higher before sinking back down. A physical representation of the melodic note. “Anything.” 

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Felix sucked in a preparatory breath. God, he _hopes_ this won’t be offensive. Or hurtful. Felix is just so _curious,_ he can’t take it anymore! 

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Well, it's now or never...

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“How did you die, Chan?” 

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The ghost boy froze. His body bristled, visible in the tensing of his biceps and the clenching of his jaw. His gaze which was once purposeful glazed over, eyes no more than black pools staring off into the middle distance. 

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It wasn’t the question he was expecting, that’s for sure. 

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A small smile came to Chan’s lips, a hardly perceptible sharpening of the corners of his mouth. Felix knows it was compulsory. Out of habit. 

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“Drowned.” Chan stated, simply. Deceptively simple, given the context. Chan is _dead._ Sometimes Felix finds himself forgetting, thanks to the sheer normality of Chan himself. Thanks to their constant companionship in the house, their laughter and growing bond, sometimes he doesn’t put two and two together that Chan isn’t _alive._

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He _drowned._

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Fuck. 

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Felix’s blood ran cold at the connotations. His lungs tightened sympathetically. Eyes watering on instinct. _God._ Chan must have been so scared, and felt so helpless, and—

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“I’m sorry,” Felix whispered, voice wavering. His eyes shot down to his hands, and how they’re wringing together unconsciously. “I shouldn’t have asked, I-I’m sorry-”

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How can he grieve for someone he never knew in life? How can he properly mourn someone whose eyes he's looking into? Who’s currently existing next to him? Who’s _talking_ to him?

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_“Felix,”_ Chan said, voice firm and slightly authoritative. Felix has never heard his voice sound like _that,_ and his ranting instantly petered out. Chan crept closer to Felix through the air, eyes now alight from within. Not dazed anymore. Not hollow. 

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“It’s okay,” Chan continued, quieter this time. More comforting, but still purposeful. At Felix's silence, his smile grew. Became more authentic. Became real. “You deserve to know.” 

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Felix ran the back of a hand over his eyes, and the peaks and valleys of his knuckles glistened with a thin sheen of wetness. He didn't deserve it. The world _needs_ someone like Chan, but the universe suffocated his flame. He's so wonderful, and the sheer unfairness of the cosmos _snatched_ his life away like it was _nothing._ But he's okay, right? He's here, with Felix, right now. Smiling through the pain. It's okay. Right? 

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Felix blinked away the blur between his lashes, all in the name of soaking in that smile. 

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“And I died recently, too. I ain't some 19th century dweeb who got owned by tuberculosis, or something.” Chan sneered, sounding somewhat….proud? 

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Felix laughed at that, a bit wet and a bit sniffly. But a laugh all the same. He smiled, to boot. “Never would have guessed.”

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Chan’s dimples deepened, emboldened by Felix's gradually mellowing demeanor. “It was pretty cliche, honestly.” He admitted, an airy giggle escaping through his grin. “Like, wow, a _surfer_ drowned? Stop the presses!” He teased, coaxing out some genuine chuckles from the human at his side. 

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A surfer, huh? Felix can definitely see that. He can easily picture Chan donning a neck-to-ankle wetsuit, carving wave crests with the greatest of ease. He wishes he could have seen him in action, before–

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Felix soon choked down his laughter, once it dawned on his once again that Chan, his new roommate and friend, is a fucking _ghost_. He suddenly became acutely aware of the consistent chill radiating off Chan. Felix’s skin prickled, hair standing on end. 

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Felix hiccuped, “So _that’s_ why all those boards are in the bedroom.” It was more to himself, than to Chan. The ghost boy still giggled nonetheless. 

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“Yeah,” Mused Chan. He relaxed in the air, muscular body going slack above the cushions. “Those are my babies, right there.” He theatrically carded a hand through his thick black curls, as if posing for a beachfront editorial.

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Felix rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the smile off his lips. Chan is so, so kind. How can someone dead be so...sweet? So full of _life?_

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And then, Felix found himself thinking...something. Something he _never_ expected. Something _new._

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It echoed between his ears, unmistakable;

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_Can I be your baby, too?_

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⊂(≖o≖⊂ )∘˚˳°

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“Do you ever regret it?” 

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Chan cocked a brow at the seemingly random question. He turned to Felix, “Regret what?”

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Felix pursed his full, glossy lips. Chan can’t help but think he looks like Tweety Bird, when juts his mouth so cutely like that. Felix gestured, hands grasping at nothing as he attempts to put the right words on his tongue. 

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“You know,” Felix began. Chan does not know. 

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“Going to the ocean that day?”

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Felix shoveled down a telling gulp. “Dying?”

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Chan didn’t know what to say in response. So instead of babbling nonsense as his brain chugs along, he zipped his lips and actually _thought._

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Because Chan, perhaps surprisingly, has never really... _pondered_ such a thing before. Not intensely, at least. 

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He thought about it, unpacking metaphoric suitcases between the folds of his brain. He thought about it until he couldn’t anymore. 

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Chan found Felix’s gaze, and he knew. Everything fell into place. 

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“Nope,” Chan announced, with the utmost confidence. “I don’t regret it at all.” 

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Felix seemed wholly unconvinced. He scrunched his brows, as he stared Chan down, down, down. “But,” Felix whispered, as if wanting to argue the sentiment on Chan’s behalf. _“Why?”_

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Chan hummed, giving a small shrug of his impressive shoulders. “Well, if I was alive my house wouldn’t have been put up for sale. Then you wouldn’t have moved in, right?”

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Felix seems confused. Very, very, _adorably_ confused. “ _Yeah…?”_ Felix prompted, quirking his brows at Chan. 

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Chan’s smile grew a bit wider. A bit more endeared. “If I wasn’t dead, I never would have met you.” 

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Silence. Broken only by a small gasp, a sharp intake of breath pulled down Felix’s throat. 

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The human looks so small, shrinking in on himself under the weight of Chan’s explanation. “Do you mean that?” Asked Felix, voice bordering on imperceptible. 

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Chan nodded, a sagely bob of his head. He made the conscious decision not to think about his family. Not to think about his friends, or Berry, or the bound bouquets and condolence cards overflowing at his parent’s house. Not now. _Not right now._ “With everything in me. All my ectoplasm. If I'm even made of that shit.” 

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More silence. Until Felix squeaked, high pitched from the back of his throat. 

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Felix’s plush lips quivered, like he’s about to cry. His doe eyes appeared a bit damper, like he’s about to _sob._

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Chan had the innate urge to kiss the tremble from his lips. 

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Instead, he continued. “So when I think about it that way,” He leaned a bit closer to Felix. Felt his human heat trying desperately to thaw the everpresent chill in his pores. Felix blinked away the dew on his eyes, and locked into Chan’s gaze. Yeah. It's okay. All of it. 

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“I feel pretty damn lucky to be a ghost, Felix.”

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And he _means_ it. Yeah, Chan died far too young, he had his whole life ahead of him, etcetera, etcetera. But in that very moment, as Chan stared at Felix sitting neat and pretty on the sofa, he realized it. 

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Maybe it was all worth it. 

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If it meant he got to meet him. 

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⊂(≖o≖⊂ )∘˚˳°

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“Channie, what did you love to do the most when you were alive?” 

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Felix asks so many questions. _What was your life like? What was your job? Music taste? Hometown?_

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It's like he wants to know everything he can about Chan. 

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It makes him feel warm. As warm as Chan's spectral body permits, of course. 

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“Well,” Chan began, from where he’s floating high in the air, his body almost completely pinned into the corner of the ceiling. Chan wasn’t the tallest dude in Sydney, so he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he uses his new ghostly abilities to see the world from above. Might as well take advantage of what he can get, right? He hooked his gaze out the open living room window, to see sunshine filtering through the grass. Chan can't go outside the confines of his house, so he can’t feel the heat of the sun on his body anymore. But that's okay, he thinks. 

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Because he has a sun of his own. 

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Bored with the view, Chan looked down. At his own sunshine. 

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Felix is snuggled up against the arm of the sofa, head tipped back to keep Chan in sight. His eyes are wide, curious. Sparkling. He’s looking at him like you’d look at the stars.

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“There was a lot I used to love,” _there’s a lot I love now, too._

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Chan’s words gummed up in his throat, as he actually began to _think_ about how to properly answer. He used to do _so much_ in his human life. Surfing at Tamarama, when he got the chance. Skateboarding down the winding suburban streets, when he couldn't make a stop at the beach. Tinkering with songs he never, truly, had the personal time to complete. They’re still there in his laptop, permanently shut down and tucked under his desk. Forever unfinished. Kinda like his life. 

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Maybe it’s a metaphor, or something.

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Taking his little sister to the park, or playing fetch with Berry in the larger backyard of his family home. Going to see a movie at the huge cinema in Eastwood, with the even bigger arcade on the basement level. 

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But there was one thing Chan had a special brand of fondness for. On par with his affinity for surfing, even. 

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“I liked cooking.” Chan murmured, voice suddenly a bit strained between his teeth. He yelped, as the top of his noggin banged against the ceiling; he didn’t even consciously realize he floated up higher, higher, highest. Felix looks even smaller than normal from Chan’s lofty vantage point, plush lips pursed as he watches Chan hover. 

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Chan blinked himself back to reality, and eased his body down. A little closer to Felix, but still out of reach. 

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“Cooking with my family, by myself, with friends—yeah,” Chan swallowed, involuntarily. Unnecessarily. He suddenly became aware that he is rambling. “I liked cooking.” He finally settled on, running in verbal circles. 

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Even from his spot bobbing aloft under the angled corner of the ceiling, Chan easily saw how Felix’s unreadable expression bloomed. He smiled, toothy and brighter than the Aussie sun outside the window. Prettier than the streams of light sifting through the carpet of grass behind the panes. 

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Prettier than anything Chan’s ever seen in his life. 

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Chan knew he was beginning to ramble, but that didn't stop him from pressing on. He smiled on instinct, at the sight of Felix’s grin. He was goaded on by that grin. “I even loved watching cooking videos on youtube, when I couldn’t sleep. I miss those, actually.” 

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It’s the little things Chan finds himself missing the most. Youtube videos. The feeling of Berry’s slick tongue happily licking his chin. The sea breeze mussing up his curls. The things he shouldn’t have taken for granted, when he had them at his fingertips. 

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“That’s a coincidence.” Felix mused, and it’s the first thing he’s said in a _while._ Chan missed his voice, that velvety smooth timbre that simply _shouldn’t_ fall from such delicate lips. It’s the little things he finds himself missing the most. 

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Felix didn’t elaborate on the subject, even in the face of Chan’s peaking confusion. Instead, he hooked his gaze into Chan’s, before popping off the sofa. 

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Chan cocked a brow, as Felix toed on his sneakers. He scrunched his forehead, as Felix snatched his keys off the hook by the door. 

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“Felix?” Chan doesn’t understand. 

__

The human turned, meeting Chan’s expectant stare over a shoulder. Chan felt fire pool in his gut, as their eyes met. 

__

“I’ll be back soon, Chan.” Felix said, his smile sharpening up at the corners. He knows something Chan doesn’t, that’s for sure. “I gotta go pick up some groceries.”

__

_Oh._ Chan’s lips fell open. 

__

He unconsciously floated up higher in the air again, as if balloons are tied to his ankles. His broad shouldered frame bobbed dangerously close to the crown molding. 

__

Felix’s eyes glimmered, at Chan’s visceral reaction. 

__

“Preheat the oven to 350 for me, will you?” 

_**  
  
  
**_

⊂(≖o≖⊂ )∘˚˳°

_**  
  
  
**_

The steak sizzled, almost angrily, as Felix laid it in the oiled pan.

__

The flame of the gas range is roaring, hungrily lapping at the flattened underside of the skillet. Oil popped and crackled. A pad of butter liquifies under such intense heat, swirling gold around the pan once scraped off Felix’s knife. 

__

“ _Damn,”_ Chan licked at his lips, peering over Felix’s shoulder. “That’s a big cut. How much _was_ it?” 

__

It looks good, too. A big ol’ slab of meat, nice and red and perfectly marbled. Kinda shaped like Texas, if you squint and tilt your head. Probably gonna be tender as _hell_. Juicy, too. 

__

His tummy feels stuck with pins and needles, but Chan knows that’s his body’s own special way of reminding his stupid ghost brain that he _still_ wants to _eat._ Human habits die hard, he’s learned. Chan misses eating, just as much as he misses the art of preparing the food itself. 

__

And, well, Felix’s steak looks good enough to _eat._

__

Felix chuckled, wiping a few drops of sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist. Sydney is balmy anyways, and the flurry of activity in the bungalow is _not_ helping. It’s _hot_ in the tiny little kitchen, and steamy. Hot from the adjacent oven, glowing orange as the dish of seasoned carrots and asparagus Felix slid in earlier roasts good and slow. Steamy from the steak searing away on the cast iron, air heady and thick from the freshly minced garlic Felix added to the oil. Felix specifically asked Chan to hover close behind, so his chill can keep him relatively refreshed.

__

And for other reasons, too. 

__

“It wasn’t cheap. But you said you missed watching cooking videos, so I wanted to show you a nice one. Just...in person. From me.” Explained Felix, as he added a fresh sprig of rosemary into the pan. The steak is browning up well, and Felix clicked his tongs once, twice, before flipping the meat over. The raw side hissed as it came in contact with the blistering cast iron. Fat is rendering away, making the oiled pan even glossier than before. 

__

Garlic steak is on the menu tonight, and Chan has _never_ been so happy to have a front row seat for the Felix Lee Cooking Spectacular. 

__

Chan hummed, floating up a little higher in order to get a better view of Felix in his element. He’s seen the human often cook up elaborate meals, but he’s never seen him pull out all the stops like _this._

__

Chan feels like he’s intruding on something sacred. Watching a master at work. 

__

He couldn't stop looking; at how Felix’s little hands expertly dice and slice, switching to different knives from the wooden block with the greatest of ease. Every movement so calculated, with such _purpose._ How focused he is, brows pulled firm and doe eyes reflecting the ingredients laid across the counter. How perfect he looks with his blonde hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, freckled cheeks dewy and lips ruddy from the absentminded bite of his teeth. 

__

He did this for _him._ Felix spent an exorbitant amount of money on a fancy cut of meat and sides, when he _easily_ could've made another pot of mac n cheese, all so he can give Chan a _show._ Because Chan mentioned in passing that he _misses_ it. And Felix...he did it all for _Chan._ No one’s ever done something so thoughtful for him—even when he was _alive._

__

Felix is so…. _Felix._ There’s no word for him, in any dictionary or lexicon or tongue. He’s everything; warmth and sunshine and stars and the moon. The earth and the sky. Even the sea, if Chan ignores the terrifying roar of waves in his ears. He’s everything Chan needed, after he died. 

__

It's all so different now, his entire existence. He can be _seen,_ and heard again. He doesn't have to keep himself invisible, or seek sanctuary in the crawl space in the attic. He can be _understood,_ for the first time since his passing. 

__

His family would be so happy, to know Chan has someone like Felix by his side. He wishes there was some way he could tell them that he's _okay._ That he's _happy_ and at peace, despite it all. 

__

Maybe he _did_ end up in heaven, after all. Because Felix Lee is an _angel._ More than an angel, even. He’s... _indescribable._ It feels like a different time, a different world, when Chan thinks back to how _adamantly_ against Felix moving in he was. He can’t _believe_ he actually wanted him out...wanted him _away._

__

He was so wrong—Felix picking _his_ house as his new home was the _best_ thing to ever happen to Chan. 

__

And Chan might just be falling for him. For his immeasurable kindness, and starlight freckles, and cosmic eyes. He’s falling for _everything._ Because that’s exactly what Felix is, in his essence. 

__

“Thank you, Felix.” Chan knows he sounds mindless, but he’s too entranced on how Felix’s stubby fingers grasp the handle of his mincing knife to put any more zest in his voice. “This is by _far_ the best cooking show I’ve ever seen.” 

__

He means it, honestly. More than the fancy videos that used to lull him to sleep, Chan finds himself savoring every _second_ of Felix at work. Even more than he would a mouthful of the tantalizing food itself. 

__

He doesn’t even feel _left out._ He’s not excluded, even though they’re both well-aware that Felix is cooking dinner for one tonight. 

__

Felix makes sure he doesn’t feel alienated, like an _other,_ and for that Chan is counting his lucky stars. Which, coincidentally, look exactly like Felix’s freckles. 

__

“I’m flattered.” Drawled Felix, shooting Chan a devilish glance before returning his attention to the counter space. His smile hung in the air even after he turned back, like early morning dewdrops on the leaves. Chan felt that smile, the ghost of it, and his skin prickled. 

__

Felix tossed another handful of chopped garlic into the sizzling skillet. He pursed his lips, unsatisfied, as the oil snapped up the newly added ingredients. “Channie?” He asked, and the now familiar nickname made Chan’s stagnant heart flutter. “Can you float me some more garlic?” 

__

Chan chomped at the bit to help, to be included. “Of course,” he chirped, before concentrating on the stray clove of fresh garlic left forgotten on the dining room table. He screwed his eyes shut, painting a detailed mental picture of the veggie in his mind’s eye. 

__

Chan wiggled his fingers and, soon enough, a levitating bulb of garlic bobbed around the bend. It floated towards them, somewhat lazily, until Felix reached up to pluck it from the air.

__

“Thanks for the help, Channie.” Said Felix, in between peeling and crushing fresh cloves. He’s grinning, as he flattens the buds with the side of his knife. “You’re the _best_ sous chef, you know that?” It sounded so casual, so playful. So intimate. 

__

And for the record, Chan didn’t know that. Until now, that is. 

__

Chop, sizzle, chop, sizzle. Felix turned the wild-blue heat of the burner lower, as he flipped the steak again. It’s pretty and brown and bubbling, basted nice and juicy and _mouth watering._ But Chan didn’t even find himself craving a bite. No, he’s craving something _else._

__

Chan’s chest feels so warm, in spite of the physical coldness keeping his body frigid. 

__

It’s all thanks to him, his sunshine. His warmth. 

__

Felix. 

__

His angel. 

__

“I think I need some more rosemary,” Felix muttered, absentmindedly. He’s still completely focused on the meal taking shape before him, so he has yet to notice Chan staring at him from above like he’s the most beautiful thing in the universe. He turned the heat down a tad more. Blue flames became sunset orange. Garlic is charring up, infusing the steak with even more flavor. Chan still only has eyes for master chef Felix Lee. 

__

“Mind floating me some, too?” Felix sent Chan another smile, this one slightly knowing. Understanding, even. Their eyes met, and something implacable sparked between them. 

__

Chan could cry, from such overpowering happiness threatening to send him down to his knees. He’s _dead,_ he shouldn’t feel like _this._ Euphoric? Useful? _Needed?_ Not forgotten? _Loved?_

__

The list goes on, and on. It’s all because of him.

__

It’s not _exactly_ how it was when he was alive, but this is the closest he’s gotten to real, authentic cooking since he passed. It’s all thanks to Felix that he has a new lease on his _after_ life. He feels _human_ again. 

__

Well...as human as someone who can make ingredients levitate can, granted. 

__

“Sure, Felix.” Chan can’t keep his eyes off him, his tiny hands working deftly to peel more garlic, his starry eyes so beautifully focused. The steam dappling the dip of Cupid’s bow. 

__

Chan gulped as his fingers clenched, and he realized something. 

__

He’s not falling for Felix. 

__

He’s _in_ _love_ with him. 

__

Before Chan could attempt to unpack such a loaded thought, another fragrant sprig of rosemary floated into the kitchen. He didn’t even _remember_ manipulating it over to them. 

__

His head was a little preoccupied. Chan can’t take his eyes off him, even if he wanted to.

__

But why would he? 

__

Felix grabbed it from the air by the stem, before tossing it into the skillet where it belongs. It sizzled, almost angrily. 

__

And Chan is in love. 

_**  
  
  
**_

⊂(≖o≖⊂ )∘˚˳°

_  
  
  
_

“Chan, _please_ stop making my undies float around my room. We've talked about this.”

__

Yes, this has happened before. No, Chan does not feel an ounce of shame. 

__

Chan pouted on cue, from where he's hovering cross-legged above the window sill. “But I made the whole solar system out of your boxers this time!” He whined, gesturing proudly at his handiwork. 

__

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune. Except, no. It's just Felix’s goddamn boxer briefs bobbing in the air, each pair somewhat color coded to its corresponding heavenly body.

__

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose, and willed the grin off his lips before responding. What is he gonna do with Chan? “Dude, you have _way_ too much time on your hands.”

__

Chan floated up a little higher, “I'm _dead,_ Lix.”

__

“I have _all_ of time on my hands.” 

__

“Can't argue with you there,” Felix mused, padding's farther into the room. He reached up on his tippy toes, and snatched one pair of floating-boxers from the air. Deep ultramarine plaid. Neptune. 

__

“But _really?”_ He brandished it at Chan, bunching fabric between his fingers. Welp. At least they're all freshly washed, right? 

__

Chan cocked a challenging brow, and silently sent the remaining airborne undies higher off the ground. “Really.”

__

Felix growled, and sprung up to _try_ and grab another pair from hovering above his head. He hopped and hopped, but it was futile. Chan just sent them even farther out of reach.

__

What has his life come to? 

__

Felix huffed, already exhausted, and flopped on his bed. Defeated. He'll just use the vacuum later, and retrieve the lot of ‘em out of the air. Maybe he'll even threaten to suck up Chan with the extendable snout of the appliance, for putting Felix through such ridiculousness. 

__

“You win,” Felix sighed, splaying out on his back. “I give up.” 

__

He looked up at his ceiling, eyes somewhat unfocused. Boxers are levitating above him, fabric idly folding from the opposing tug of gravity as Chan’s powers keep them aloft. 

__

And what's worse? 

__

Felix can't even be mad at Chan, for such ghostly idiocy. 

__

Chan cackled in triumph, and with a flick of a pale hand, the set of heavenly-body boxers are sent tumbling from midair. 

__

The pair representing Mercury fell _right_ onto an unsuspecting Felix’s face, and the human yelped in dismay. Cotton printed with rubber duckies veiled his eyes, making the world somewhat kaleidoscopic through the fiber. 

__

“Hey!” Felix barked, yanking the pair off his poor, innocent face. Chan just laughed harder, at the _oh-so_ hilarious sight. Felix’s nostrils are suddenly assaulted with the grating scent of lavender-fresh dryer sheets. 

__

And then...Felix laughed too. As he always does, when Chan is involved. 

__

Felix tossed the undies to the floor, bolting upright in bed as wild giggles racked his body. 

__

“You're _such_ an idiot,” Said Felix, in between chuckles. And, well...he's not entirely _wrong,_ in that assessment.

__

Chan’s smile is blinding, as he floats over to the bed. He uncrossed his legs, muscular calves and barefeet now bobbing above the floorboards. “It's possible.” He acquiesced.

__

The ghost boy crept even closer to Felix, until he's hovering mere inches besides the human. He got as comfortable as he can, “laying” in the air and body magically kept afloat above the duvet and pillows. Felix’s hair prickled, as soon as he’s hit with Chan’s frigidity. 

__

Felix gazed at him through a fan of lashes, eyes hooded and unreadable. He sighed, as he looked at him. Chan. 

__

The dead boy haunting Felix’s new house.

__

And Felix is absolutely, utterly in love with him.

__

Yes, yes. He knows how _strange_ it sounds, to readily come to the conclusion that you are smitten with a ghost. Felix knows it sounds like a plot line straight from a shitty YA novel bound for an even shittier movie adaptation. He knows it sounds _insane._

__

But he can't kid himself anymore. 

__

He loves Chan. Loves his dimpled smile and his dark eyes and his unnaturally porcelain skin. He loves his dumb sense of humor, even when said sense of humor culminates with Felix’s briefs flying like kites in his bedroom. He loves how Chan helps him around the house, laughing and joking as if they've been together for _years._

__

_Damnit,_ Felix loves _Chan._ Everything about him. Even the fact that he's _dead._

__

It doesn't even matter that Chan has no heartbeat of his own. Felix’s beats strong enough, hot enough, for the both of them. 

__

Chan finally caught wind of Felix’s weighty stare, and he cocked his head in turn. “Lix? You good?” 

__

Felix’s breath is fluttering from his chest. _Is_ he good? 

__

He's not even sure himself.

__

His skin feels so hot, as he keeps Chan solely in his sight. His heart is pounding so powerfully, each beat urging him further. Threatening to send him tumbling forward, right into Chan.

__

Felix licked his lips, before attempting to speak. 

__

“Can I touch you, Chan?” 

__

He doesn't even mean it in an... _intimate_ kinda way. He means it in a _literal_ way. _Can_ he touch Chan? Physically? Will his hand phase through his body as Chan himself transmutes through walls and furniture? 

__

They've never tried before. Felix never knew how to properly start the dialogue. He was always too nervous to reach out and _try._ For fear his fingers would latch onto air, and nothing else. 

__

Sure, Chan can easily manipulate household items through touch, but what if it's _different_ with skin and muscle? What if his chill and Felix’s heat just don't _mesh?_ It terrifies him, the very real, looming possibility that ghost and human physical contact simply doesn't exist. _Can't_ exist, for reasons unknown. 

__

But he _finally_ scrounged up the courage to open the conversation. To get this huge, crushing ball of _what-if_ rolling. 

__

Because Felix really, _really_ wants to touch Chan. To hold his large, slightly greying hands. To cup his cheeks. To be cradled in his arms. To kiss him, all over those pale pink lips.

__

Chan seemed appropriately taken aback by the question. His eyes widened momentarily, before his lids sagged. Dark lashes fanning shadow over ivory cheeks. He floated a bit higher off the bed, before sinking back down, closer to Felix. 

__

“I don't know,” He answered, honestly. 

__

Chan leaned in a bit deeper. Cold breath rushes past Felix’s flushed cheeks, tempering his blush. 

__

Chan's lips quirked up a bit at the corners. “Should we find out?” 

__

Chills ran down Felix’s spine, as he became entranced on the stars in Chan’s eyes. Felix nodded, all words caught up at the base of his throat.

__

“Yeah,” He eventually whispered. Everything around him faded to black, save for Chan. He’s all his senses can perceive, under the crushing heft of such mighty adoration. “I think we should.”

__

Without another moment spared, Chan and Felix closed their distance in tandem. Cold breath versus humid breath. 

__

Time seemed to slow, grinding to a halt as their eyes met. Something unspoken bounced between them.

__

Chan raised up a hand, reaching towards Felix’s jaw. It’s happening. _Is_ it happening?

__

_Will_ it happen?

__

More than when Felix met the lovely ghost haunting his house, more than when Chan caused all manner of spooky havoc, Felix is _scared._ More scared than he’s ever been in his life. 

__

Closer, closer. Felix unconsciously held his breath, for fear of the incoming unknown. 

__

What if he passes right through him? 

__

What if it’s _not possible._ What if _they’re_ not possible? 

__

Pale fingertips found their target, after what felt like an eternity. 

__

Felix gasped, tears springing up at his lashes as a numbing jolt of concentrated chill cupped his cheek.

__

“Oh my _god,”_ Chan whimpered, his own eyes blown wide. Pitch pupils dilated, until his eyes appear like those of a doll. Like a shark. He tightened his grip on Felix’s cheek, soft finger pads pressing deep into freckled skin. 

__

“You're so warm.” Chan sounds breathless. Which makes sense, considering he’s dead. And makes even more sense, when you take into account that he might be in love. 

__

Felix gulped, focusing all his cognition on the delightfully frozen feeling of Chan’s palm caressing his jaw. He can feel them, each finger molding around the sharp dip of his jaw and cradling the apple of his cheek. So chilly. So comforting. 

__

“You're so cold.” 

__

Chan barked a laugh, short and tight. He would blush, if he could. He would cry from happiness, if he could. 

__

All this time they... _could_ have. Could have held hands while doing the dishes together. Could have cuddled on the couch as they watch Paranormal Activity 3, Felix snuggled up in Chan’s lap as he hovers above the throw pillows. Could have kissed after Felix took a long swig of pineapple juice, to see if Chan could still taste any of the residual flavor. 

__

They have a lot of missed opportunities to make up for, it seems. 

__

It’s possible. 

__

Felix feels like crying— _they’re_ possible.

__

The immense, shapeless fear chewing up his gut dissolved into a swarm of butterflies in his tummy, making Felix giddy. Making him jittery, under the calming cool of Chan’s hand cupping his face. His cheeks feel so burning hot, Felix wouldn’t be surprised if sweat began to bead on Chan’s skin, from the sheer degree of the flesh beneath him alone. 

__

Felix blinked away tears of joy, as he posed, “Can I kiss you, Chan?” 

__

Chan allowed himself an appropriately blinding grin, before easing his lips down into something mellow. Something tender. He bent down further, and Felix can smell the sea water and pine needles on his breath. Chan is a ghost. And he’s the love of Felix’s _life_ , just as much. Which is... _maybe_ a bit counterintuitive, he realizes. Not like it changes the statement. 

__

“Please? Now that I...know we _can.”_

__

_We can._ Felix thought it back to himself, and it felt like lightning striking his spine. Electricity coursing through his veins, from two simple words. 

__

They can. And Felix has never experienced such mind-numbing elation, in all his years on earth. 

__

Felix has waited for this moment for so long, with every fiber of his being, that he couldn't spare another second once given the go-ahead. Darting out tiny hands of his own, Felix bracketed Chan’s cheeks with his palms, keeping him steady and warm and right where he needs him. His skin is so frosty, like planes of sculpted ice under his fingers. Felix never wants to let him go. 

__

And with that, they leaned in. One cold breath, one hot breath, and then their lips are seamed together. 

__

Felix whimpered into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he became hypnotized by the softness, the coldness, the tenderness. Chan’s lips are just as he imagined they’d be, and then some. Smooth and supple, pleasantly cool like mint. With how Chan is hovering a few inches off the bed, Felix had to crane his neck back a bit to compensate for the height difference. But it was still picture perfect. Still the best kiss Felix has ever had in his _life._

__

Chan hummed in contentment, fingers gripping a bit tighter, a bit firmer on Felix’s cheek. His human warmth eeked into the numbness in the tips of Chan’s fingers, as if attempting to melt the permafrost in his bones. 

__

The kiss deepend, deepened, broke. Chan and Felix pulled away in unison, eyes opening wide and lips marginally redder than before. Even Chan’s perpetually pallid mouth seems a tad more healthy. A tad more human. Pale pink to rosy, ghostly blue to something along the lines of smoky lilac.

__

He’s so beautiful. Felix is so lucky to have moved into the one house on earth haunted by Chan. 

__

Dazed from the residual tingle of that kiss on his lips, Felix wasn’t thinking when he confessed, “I love you, Chan. I love you _so_ much.” 

__

Chan’s eyes dampened, as if he were about to cry. Wordlessly, he scooped Felix into his arms, keeping the human boy nestled nice and flush on his chest. 

__

So cold, meets _so_ warm. It’s perfect. 

__

Chan bent down, and placed a smooch on the crown of Felix’s head. 

__

“I love you too, Lix.” He said, and Felix’s chest swelled and swelled like the tide. Like his love is about to overflow from his chest, and drown the _both_ of them this time around. “With all my ectoplasm.” 

__

Felix choked on a giggle, until Chan kissed it free from his lips. Felix’s laughter seeped into Chan’s mouth, and down his throat like honey. They pulled apart again, like clockwork. 

__

The quiet atmosphere of the bedroom began to take hold. 

__

If Felix concentrates hard enough, he’d be able to feel the wild beats of his heart thrumming into Chan’s own chest, echoing around the disused muscle behind his ribs. 

__

Chan's body is so sturdy beneath him, so deceptively human, but Felix can still feel the inherent weightlessness of him hovering above the comforter. It's calming; like when you lay in an innertube in a pool. It reminds Felix of being under water. 

__

As if sensing his thoughts, Chan whispered, “Your heart is beating so fast, Felix. I can feel it, like it's my own.” 

__

And maybe it is. They can share it, Felix thinks. 

__

Felix didn't know how to properly respond, so rather than with words, he hoped the quick kiss he left on the corner of Chan’s lips would suffice. Felix has a sneaking suspicion it very much did.

__

This time, Chan made sure the silence didn't last. 

__

“Thank you for moving in, Felix.” Mused Chan, once the human buried his head back into the crook of his neck. He snaked strong, firm arms around Felix’s waist; keeping him safe, and secure, and adored. 

__

Chan is so pale. Like he’s made of starlight. Made of moonlight. Made of _light_ , period. He shines in the ambient glow of Felix’s bedside lamp, bouncing diffused gold off alabaster. 

__

Felix has never been so irrevocably in love with someone before. Whoever would have thought that Felix and Chan, two completely disparate beings, could fall so hard, so fast for the other. Who knew cold and warm could work so, _so_ well together. 

__

It's like destiny. Like it was written in the stars, for Felix to move into Chan’s home. Love beyond the boundary of death. 

__

Chan may have gone towards _the_ _light,_ but he found a new source of brilliance to follow. He found a new sun to guide him through the darkness. 

__

“Oh, Channie,” Felix replied, once the fog in his brain lifted. He pecked Chan’s perfectly wide and perfectly kissable nose, and the world is perfect. Just for them. Just for one dead boy and one human boy, in a tiny bungalow in the suburbs outside Sydney. 

__

Perfect. _They’re_ perfect. 

__

“Thank you for _letting_ me move in.” 

__

One more kiss, just for good measure. They have a lot of lost time to make up for, after all.

__

“Thank you, for staying with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you read all of this in one sitting then...congratulations, you legally own my heart! 
> 
> perhaps a bit ironic to post a fic where channie is a ghost to celebrate his birthday, but i'm overall pretty happy w how this came out! plus, it's a good way to kick off spooky skz month right? ;) 
> 
> anyways, pls let me know ur thoughts abt this Doozy of a fic! I’m very eager to read your reactions ^^  
> I worked incredibly hard on it, so if u liked it pls consider dropping a kudo as well! it would really mean a lot :’) thank you so much for reading, and once again happy birthday to the most wonderful human being on earth!!! till next year, channie day ❤️


End file.
